"Sasha!" Her hand grips my arm, and she steadies my faltering step.
XII
I open my eyes. The room is light and airy; a soothing quiet pervades the place. The portières part noiselessly, and the Girl looks in.
"Awake, Sasha?" She brightens with a happy smile.
"Yes. When did I come here?"
"Several days ago. You've been very sick, but you feel better now, don't you, dear?"
Several days? I try to recollect my trip to Buffalo, the room on the Bowery. Was it all a dream?
"Where was I before I came here?" I ask.
"You—you were—absent," she stammers, and in her face is visioned the experience of my disappearance.